His free hand slid to her knee, pushing up her gown to get at her cool, smooth skin. Her legs were endless, and he wanted to explore them at his leisure. Some day but not now. They both sucked in a breath when his fingers touched her curls and then found her slick skin. Wet. That was how it would feel inside of her. Hot and wet. He stroked, exploring her in gentle touches that soon grew stronger. Then it was Poppy who canted her hips.
“Ah, God, Win.” She panted and moved against his fingers. “Do that again.”
He complied and came in contact with the hottest part of her. “How do you like it, Pop?”
Her throat moved when she swallowed. “Softly.”
“Softly? Like this?” He swirled his thumb around her bud, gently, so very gently.
She groaned, and her long legs spread open like the pages of a book offering up their secrets. Win swallowed convulsively. He looked down.
“Lovely.” Dark red curls, pink glistening lips. They caught the whole of his concentration, and he slowly discovered every inch as she writhed against him, tilting her hips, encouraging him lower. Unable to stop himself, he pushed a finger in. Hot, wet, and tight. He closed his eyes on a groan. She would be heaven. His cock agreed and ground itself against her now relaxed hand. As if hearing his plea, she gripped him hard. Her free hand grabbed onto his hair.
Determined brown eyes gazed up at him. “Win, come into me.”
Winston considered himself intelligent. And though he panted, and his body literally shook with needful lust, he paused. “We aren’t married.”
She froze at his whisper. Her red tongue swept out to lick her lips, distracting him. He forced his gaze to her eyes. She blinked as though dazed. “No. But Win…” Her cheeks went scarlet. “I need you.”
He kissed her hard, telling her with his kiss how much he needed her too. His finger sank deeper into her, earning a whimper, and his heart nearly pounded out of his chest. But he pulled back. “You know how much I want you,” he said, willing himself not to stroke her. “But I will not dishonor you—”
“It is not a dishonor.” She pulled him closer. “Not when it is what I want. What we want.”
He almost moved then. Almost. His gaze caught hers. “Does that mean we will marry?”
Maybe later he would analyze how one could feel such intense lust while being felled by equally intense pain. Now, however, he slowly took his hand away from her as her expression closed down, giving him his answer long before she spoke. “I cannot.”
He pushed himself up to sitting. “Poppy darling, I must ask…. Why the bloody hell not?” Cursing again, he pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “What are we doing here?”
“I thought that was obvious.” The bed squeaked as she sat. He risked a look. She was buttoning up her gown.
On a sigh, he tucked himself back into his trousers and tried to bring himself to rights as well before getting off her too-tempting bed. Rising, he faced her. “Do not double talk me, Poppy. You invited me to your rooms in the middle of the night—”
“I did not hear you complain.”
“Offered up your virginity,” he said over her, “and yet you continue to refuse my suit.” Which hurt, more than he wanted to admit. “Why? I confess. I do not understand you.”
She sat, long legs crossed before her, with a mulish expression pulling at her features.
“Why?” he said again, for she would not answer.
Poppy’s cheeks went pink, then red. “I did not expect this. I did not expect you. I did not think that someone would—” Her breath hitched on a hiccup. “That someone would—”
He took a step toward her. “Would what?”
She ducked her head. “Want me.”
“Want you?” he repeated, stunned. He sank to his knees beside the bed and took her cold hand in his. “I don’t simply want you. I love you!”
“I know,” she whispered, her face so very pale. “Which makes it so much worse. To have your love is a miracle to me. And I cannot accept it.”
For a moment, he could only stare at her. He’d never said those words in his life, never even felt them for another soul. And what did she say in return? Nothing. No reassurance. When he found his voice, it was weak and rusty. “For the love of God, Poppy, at least tell me why.”
She blinked rapidly. “You are the son of a duke.”
The numbness started in his face and then crawled along his arms, down to his fingers. From beyond the buzzing of his ears he heard himself ask. “Has my father contacted you?”
Her hand slipped away. “Not only me, but my father as well. We will be ruined if I continue my association with you.”
“We cannot let him win!” He punched the side of her bed, and the frame rattled. “We marry, and he will let it go—”
“Not even you truly believe that, Win.” Her brown eyes appeared so very old and tired then. “He will make us pay for defying him. I think you know that as well.”
“Then we leave. We can go to America or—”
“Win.” Poppy cupped his cheek with a hand that was remarkably steady. “I cannot leave London. My life is here. And it is complicated.” Her hand drifted away. “I never meant for it to go so far. Only I could not help myself with you.”
“You—” His breath hitched. Humiliating. And yet he could not stop his head from falling down into her lap. “Do not make me live without you, Boadicea. I cannot do it.”
He heard her swallow, felt her hand come down to stroke his hair. He did not acknowledge the touch; he was too cold. Cold enough that his body shook and his throat convulsed. “You are my cornerstone.”
“And you are my happiness. But we will both have to go on,” she whispered, breaking his heart, tearing apart his soul. Her body curled over his as she kissed his cheek. “Can we not have this night to say good-bye?”
Win shot away from the bed on his next breath. His chest heaved as he stood. “If you thought I would play a part in this… farewell—” He scrubbed his palm across his cheek, wiping away the humiliating tear that trickled down. “Then you don’t know me at all. Good-bye, Miss Ellis.”
He left her then, knowing that his final words had been a lie. He’d never truly be able to say good-bye to her. She was already part of his soul. Whether he wanted her to be or not.
Chapter Fifteen
Poppy needed to get off this bloody ship. How one could stand to be trapped on board a vessel for weeks on end, she didn’t know. As it was, she had to fight the urge to punch the walls or scream at her fellow passengers, most of whom had the rather annoying habit of greeting her good morning when she’d really rather they stay away. Bloody polite society.
She quickened her stride when yet another couple turned into the corridor and began strolling her way. These two, at least, were smart enough to properly interpret her stony expression and lack of eye contact as a signal to “please bugger off.” Poppy got past them and made it out into the main first class lobby. It was beautiful, with its mahogany paneling, stained-glass windows, and soaring height, giving one the feeling of walking into both a cathedral and a library all at once. She only noticed because it was something Win would have remarked upon. This did not alleviate her current mood, one that had descended on her as she’d dressed for the day.
Her boot heels clattered as she descended the center staircase at a swift pace, earning several censorious looks in the process. The stares of others only helped to shore up those lovely thick walls she’d developed to contain herself. She brushed by a loitering group of passengers who were complaining about the too-dry eggs at breakfast. Through a gateway of tall potted palms, she entered the cafe lounge.
He sat at the far corner table, where the massive skylight windows let in a dull, grey light. He had a way of sitting, so very straight and proper, his feet planted and his arms resting at his sides, that it ought to make him appear priggish. It did not. Whether it was the wide breadth of his shoulders, his knobby wrists peeking out from his cuffs, or the stern expression
surrounded by that unkempt hair, she did not know, but he looked more a wild thing playing at being a gentleman, and she’d no doubt that if she lobbed the throwing knife she had hidden in her pocket, he’d react in an instant. Win’s greatest talent was making the world believe him harmless. Like the spider to the fly, he drew people into his confidence before tapping into their secrets. It was what made him both maddening and thrilling to her in a way no other man had even come close to.
She drew near, knowing that he was aware of her. She fancied she could see the knowledge hardening over his fine, strong features. He let it go for a few steps more then rose gracefully to his feet and drew out a chair for her.
“Morning,” he said in his raspy voice. “Have you eaten?”
She sat in her chair as he poured fresh coffee into his cup and pushed it toward her. “No.” She took a grateful drink.
He frowned, which, with his scars, made him appear all the more disreputable. “You ought to take better care. The child needs nourishment.”
The cup clinked as she set it down. “Which would be moot if I were to simply cast the food back up.” She scowled down at her hands, aware that he was staring at her. “I feel slightly ill this morning.”
Her chest ached where Isley had struck her, and her head throbbed. She wanted to nap, even though she’d just risen. She wanted someone else to carry her load for a moment or two. Hell, she just wanted off this great, rocking prison. As that would happen in a few hours, she refused to be churlish about it a moment longer and slowly lifted her gaze to his. Win’s eyes gave her no indication of his feelings.
“You’ve a plan, I gather.” She took another sip of coffee and felt a bit more restored. Perhaps a sweet bun was in order, after all.
“Yes.” Win lifted a hand in the air, and a waiter started over. “Find this Moira Darling and solve the case for the bastard.” He turned to the waiter. “My wife will have…”
“Sweet buns,” she supplied. When he left, she turned back to Win. “You’ve always been able to do that? How?”
His gorgeously stern mouth quirked, and she was hit anew by the need to kiss those lips. “Because I know how to read you.” The smile faded. “Or I used to think I did.”
Her heart kicked in her chest. “You obviously still do it well enough to know I wanted food.”
“There is that,” he murmured, stealing a sip of coffee.
“Win?” Poppy ran a finger along the edge of the marble tabletop, studying her progress rather than face him. “Did it… Would you have preferred it if I had expressed my anger more… vocally? Over the years, that is.” Blast, but her cheeks were too hot.
He set his coffee cup on its saucer. “Would it have been so terrible? To let me in, let me share your burden?”
Her finger slid back and forth over the marble. She cleared her throat. “I thought you’d prefer your wife to exhibit at least some womanly virtue.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him lean back in his chair, and she made herself look up. His arms were folded, resting on his lean middle. A hint of wry amusement flickered in his eyes, but there was irritation dwelling there as well. “I see. So then you would rather I behaved the common husband, demanded you stay at home, darn my stockings, and so forth?!”
“That is hardly the same.”
“Is it not?” His shoulders tightened. “I was under the impression that the things we were not brought us together as much as the things we were.”
Typical Winston logic. Her face heated further. He moved then, in his quick, economical way, and sat up fully in the chair once more. “I’ve a lead to follow in London. The Komtesse Krogstad. I’ve never heard of her, but she apparently knew the demon as Lord Isley sixteen years ago.”
“I know her,” Poppy said with a lurch. “She lives in Chelsea.”
His steady blue-grey eyes held hers. “How do you know her?” Which translated to: When during our marriage were you consorting with komtesses? And why?
She refused to apologize. “She’s a demimondaine and a member of the Aesthetic movement, which means she interacts with a great deal of, shall we say, eccentrics. It puts her in a key position to notice certain supernatural activities.” Poppy paused as the waiter returned and set down a basket of fresh baked bread and two plates. Her mouth actually watered at the scent, and she tucked into a sweet bun, chewing vigorously before swallowing it down with another sip of coffee. Heaven. “The Komtesse has been an SOS informant for years.”
“Mmm.” Win selected a roll and tore off a chunk before popping it in his mouth. Unlike her, his manners remained impeccable. Well, she thought irritably, he wasn’t beset by sudden bouts of insatiable hunger. She took another large bite of the sweet bread.
“Questioning her,” he said, “ought to go a bit more smoothly in that case.”
Poppy forced herself to ignore the bread. “Win, I want to help you.”
He stared back with those eyes that saw everything and gave nothing away unless he let them. “I want you to help me,” he said softly, and her insides went warm.
“Good.” She nodded and snuck just one more bite of the roll.
He looked like he might say more so she cut him off, not wanting to hear him discuss last night before she could. “We shall solve this case, eradicate this bloody bargain, capture Isley, and then…”
“And then,” he prompted, his voice even, almost dull, his expression going hard once again. “What then, Poppy?”
Her heart pounded. Did he dare make her ask? Beg for them to be a family? Not like this. Her hand clenched the smooth curve of the coffee cup. “And then this business shall be over, of course.”
Something snuffed in his eyes, like a flame blown out, and again came the feeling of failing a test that he’d laid out for her. It made her want to throw the cup across the room, just to see it smash. She calmly returned his gaze.
“Right,” he said. But when she made to rise, his hand snaked out and clamped around her wrist, holding her still. “Until then, let me correct certain misapprehensions. We may no longer live as husband and wife, but there is more than just you and me to consider. There is our child. We are in this together now.” His grip tightened. “Together, Boadicea. If you fall, I will catch you. I do not expect you to trust me on that. Not yet.” His eyes were hard, and he stared her down, but his touch suddenly became unbearably gentle and secure. “But I shall work at every moment to make you believe it.”
Disembarking went smoothly. The train ride from Southampton to London was made in relative silence. It wasn’t until they stood on the platform at Victoria Station and faced each other over their stacked travel trunks that the reality of returning home fell upon them. Win’s deep-set eyes watched her, letting the moment grow between them, and she saw his hesitation, as if he did not want to be the one to state the obvious—that he would now go back to whatever rooms he’d let.
Irritatingly, the backs of Poppy’s eyes began to burn and prickle. She’d grown used to him again. When he’d left, it had taken weeks to finally get a full night’s rest. A hard-earned struggle now destroyed by two days of being with him once again. Damn it all.
This man could hurt her. More than anyone on earth. For she had exposed her heart to him in all its pink, fleshy glory. He knew its pathways and its weaknesses. Where she would bleed the most if he chose to slice into her. In truth, he’d already made the first cut, leaving her blood to run not hot but ice cold down the walls of her chest. Wounded as she was, it would not take much for him to finish her. This man could do much worse than hurt her. This man could destroy her.
Behind them, Mary Chase and Jack Talent waited, both of them trying their best to blend into the scenery. Ye gods, would the ignominy of her situation ever end? She detested public spectacle, and now it was hers.
She straightened, refusing to hug herself or acknowledge the thickness in her throat. “Well then, I suppose we ought to go.”
A rare break in the cloud cover sent a few rays of brilliant light down
upon them, and Win’s eyes fell into shadow under the brim of his bowler. “Yes,” he said in his husky voice, then shifted his weight, sending more of his features into darkness.
She looked at him and set her jaw firm. Do not make me ask it. Do not make me.
The line of his shoulders became stiff and unyielding. “Look here, I do not think we should separate. It isn’t safe.”
Sternness tempered his tone, as if he thought she’d argue. It took her a moment to clear her throat. “If you think it best.”
“I do.” He gave her a sharp nod then turned to Talent. “Take our trunks to Ranulf House.”
Talent frowned. “I ought to go with you.”
Win gave a tight, quick smile. “I believe we can all agree that I am no longer in imminent danger of being attacked by the demon.” Because of their loyalty, Poppy and Win had given both Talent and Mary a basic explanation of the situation.
Win, obviously seeing the disappointment etched on Talent’s face, added, “Should further developments arise, I shall not hesitate to solicit your help, Mr. Talent.”
Talent appeared somewhat mollified. “And where do I put Miss Chase here?” he asked with a bored flick of his thumb in Mary’s direction.
Mary bristled. “You do not ‘put’ me anywhere, Mr. Talent.”
Win cleared his throat. “Find Miss Chase proper accommodations in Ranulf House.” His visage grew stern. “And behave.”
Talent muttered under his breath but complied with a sweeping bow. Poppy bit back a smile as the pair began to bicker about who would hail a porter and who would find the cab.
Sighing, Win left them to it and his assessing gaze swept over her once more. “Have you a need to rest now?”
“No.” She might go mad if she were to be cooped up in another room so soon, and the day promised to be fresh and bright for once. She fell in step beside Winston.
“Win, why Ranulf House?”
“It is where I’ve been staying.”
“You’ve been staying with the lycans?” Shock colored her words. Lycans, while not werewolves, could turn into them, and they had the ability to unleash claws and fangs. They were more than capable of hurting Win in the exact fashion he’d been hurt before. And he’d set up house with them.